And All Hope Fled
by isolde13
Summary: My first stab at a little Legolas angst and torture. What happens when the one ring falls into the wrong hands?
1. Default Chapter

Author's notes: Some of you may know me as the girl who tortures Nsync relentlessly. Well…I have found someone new to mess with. This is just some pointless Legolas torture. I got the idea from a website challenge. Basically the ring falls into someone's hands and is NOT destroyed. So I ran with it. It was fun. Legolas torture is just as good as I thought it would be. Sorry about the ending, I know it sucks. 

And All Hope Fled

Things were not supposed to have turned out this way. 

The ring was supposed to have been destroyed. 

Evil was supposed to fall and goodness was supposed to prevail. That is how things should have happened. 

And yet they didn't. 

They didn't, because sometimes fate and destiny go awry and cheat all involved out of their expected happy ending. 

And so it was when Grima Wormtongue put on the one ring that fate and destiny were turned on their heads and all hope fled middle-earth.

It began with King Theoden – this withering of good. Grima had him executed on the very first day that he claimed power. He showed the king none of the mercy that he had been shown not so long ago. 

Aragorn was next – because Aragorn was the most dangerous, the strongest, the one who could unite all of middle-earth against him. So it was that the man who would be king became a prisoner in the deep dank cells of Orthanc, sentenced to spend the remainder of his days in the scuttling dark.

Then came Eowyn. The woman whom Grima desired more than any other on middle-earth. She became his wife, although she fought and struggled every step of the way to the altar. She cursed his name as he placed the wedding ring on her finger and she cursed his name as he took her in their bridal chamber. 

Yet she was completely silent as she ran the knife blade along her wrists on one cold winter's night. She was silent as death came and took her, and she welcomed it, because it freed her from her hated husband at long last.

And now – now it was time for the elf and the dwarf to face Grima's judgement. For he had captured them both as they tried to rally armies to bring him down. They were branded as traitors and quickly brought to Orthanc. 

They had been summarily tortured, in hopes of finding out where the fledgling rebellion's encampments were, but neither of them had talked. They had screamed yes, but they uttered not one word of betrayal.

Then one day Grima had them brought before him. Both were weary, their pale faces lined with pain, yet they still held their heads high. Despite the ropes that bound them, they still managed to walk with dignity.

They were made to kneel on the ground, to show respect for their false king. Grima stared at them, relishing the sight of two heroes brought so low. After a time he began to speak. 

"I have been going about this all wrong," he said, his voice no more than a sibilant hiss. "I understand that now. You are warriors, both of you, and as such, you, while not immune to pain, are at least accustomed to it." He paused then, as if marshalling his thoughts. Legolas and Gimli dared to exchange a quick, questioning glance. 

"But you are not without your weaknesses," he continued. "I see that now. And it was so very obvious, I wonder how I could have missed it before." 

Another glance passed between the elf and the dwarf. What did this madman mean to say? What could he possibly be planning? 

Grima continued. "It is obvious that you care for each other. Care…perhaps even love. It is nothing to you to be tortured; pain is a constant companion for beings such as yourselves. And you would rather be dead than betray your cause. But I think I am correct in guessing that you might not be able to bear so easily seeing your comrade in pain." 

A stricken look passed across Legolas' face and he turned towards Gimli. Gimli's face matched his own – a mask of fear and disbelief. 

Grima smiled at seeing their reactions, for they were exactly the ones he had been hoping for. "We shall begin with you, my fair prince. Yes, I believe that I would like to begin with you." 

They were taken down to the torture chambers where blood decorated the stone floors and despair was pungent in the air. Legolas was taken to the center of the room and the rope that bound his wrists together was looped around a hook that hung down from the ceiling. Gimli was tied to a stone chair directly in front of his friend, where he would be certain to miss nothing. 

"Pay attention, dwarf," Grima said as he stepped aside to let his men do their work. 

The lashings came first. Lashings with a whip that felt more like steel than anything else. Legolas made no sound at all but his body twisted and strained to get away from the sting of them. After the first few lashings, Grima decided that he would rather enjoy tormenting the elf himself. But Grima was not a very strong man –even with the strength of the one ring on his side – and he began to tire after bestowing a mere 35 lashes.

He set the whip down and inspected the elf's back. It looked completely torn apart and blood ran down its length freely. The elf himself was panting harshly, as if he could simply not suck in enough breath to sustain himself.

Grima walked to the elf's side and held his chin in one bony hand. Legolas looked at him with a mixture of contempt and disgust that nearly burned Grima with its intensity. He turned away from that gaze and faced Gimli. 

"You can stop this. All you have to do is tell me where your armies are and I will put an end to your friend's suffering."

Gimli merely stared at him. If looks could kill, Grima would have been stricken dead on the spot.

Grima abruptly released the prince's chin. "Fine. We move on then. We shall try hot pokers next."

Legolas' eyes widened, as did Gimli's, but neither of them said a word. And so it was that Grima's men came to Legolas, the ends of their steel pokers burning brightly in the gloom of the chamber. The pain of the first one, which was set against his shoulder, Legolas was able to bear silently. But the second one, which was applied to his already injured back, caused a terrible scream to tear loose from his throat. The next few landed over his body indiscriminately, each one seemingly more painful than the last. 

Gimli tried in vain to cover his ears against the sound of his friend in agony, but of course he could not move. So instead he closed his eyes, no longer able to bear the sight before him. 

But Grima walked behind him and grabbed a handful of his hair and pulled back fiercely. Grima bent down low next to the dwarf's right ear and whispered, "You do your friend a great injustice to close your eyes to his pain. You are abandoning him." 

And of course the evil snake was right. He was abandoning his friend as surely as if he had stood up and simply walked out on him. He opened his eyes and fixed them on Legolas, and found to his amazement that his friend was looking at him steadily. Despite the hopelessness of the situation, Gimli felt a renewed sense of strength and he nodded proudly at his friend.

Grima straightened and walked away from Gimli, placing his attention on Legolas. It was to him that he spoke. "Well, do you wish to speak and end this?" 

Legolas' body trembled from cold and pain but his gaze was steady. He spoke slowly and deliberately, as if to make certain that his words were understood. "I would rather endure a thousand nights of this than to betray our people."

"That is as I thought," Grima said, seemingly unperturbed by the answer. "And you dwarf? Will you talk to me now and spare your oh-so-dear friend this torment?" 

Instead of answering, Gimli spat at the wicked man's feet. 

Grima scowled. "Stubborn! Why must you be so stubborn?" He gestured for one of his men to come to him. The man did and Grima leaned towards him, speaking in a low tone. 

The man listened for a moment, then nodded and turned away. He walked over to the other men and for a moment they all blocked Gimli's view of Legolas. Then they separated and Gimli could see his friend again, although he wished desperately that he could not. For the men were once again holding the hot pokers to Legolas' skin, letting the burning embers destroy his flesh and bore holes into his body. When the heat was extinguished, they took the pokers and used them as blunt instruments. They pounded them against the elf's stomach, his back, his legs, his groin…

The elf had no choice but to scream. The pain was everywhere, all consuming, and it never seemed to stop. There was no respite, no brief moment given to him so that he could collect himself and gather his strength. His screams continued as bones were broken, as flesh was charred. After awhile, the strength of his screams began to weaken and his body slumped in its bonds, his head lolling forward on his chest. 

It was at this moment that Gimli began to believe that they would kill Legolas; brutally kill him while he did nothing but watch. "Wait, stop!" cried the dwarf. 

Legolas lifted his head slightly, his eyes bleary with pain. With great effort he focused on his friend, who was struggling to rise from his chair. 

"I will tell you what you want to know. Just stop! Just please show some mercy and stop!" 

Grima turned towards him, a smile of benevolence on his face. "Of course dwarf. Tell me what I want to know and this all stops." 

Gimli was about to open his mouth but Legolas spoke first. "Don't you dare, Gimli!" he gasped hoarsely. "Don't you dare shame me in that manner!" 

"Legolas, I only wish to end your torment. I cannot bear to see this!" Gimli cried. 

"Then do not look," Legolas said simply. "Do not look." 

"Legolas, I must…I would be abandoning you if I turned away," he said, unconsciously echoing Grima's earlier statement. 

"No!" Legolas said sharply. Then his features relaxed and a ghost of a smile appeared on his lips. "I know you are with me, my friend." 

Gimli took a moment to stare at the elf, gazing so intently at him, still so fair and pure after all that had been done to him. Then he blinked, and lifting his eyes to their tormenter, said, "I have changed my mind." 

Grima uttered a low growl of anger that quickly rose to a deafening screech. "Accursed elf!" he shouted as he picked up one of the discarded pokers. He swung it with all his might against the face of the prince, quite pleased with himself when he saw that he had most likely broken both the elf's cheek and jaw. 

Blood flowed freely from Legolas' mouth and he weakly spit some out before he could gag on it. 

For some reason this gruesome display seemed to sate Grima's anger and he stepped slowly away from the scene. He took a deep breath and softly said, "Continue please." 

And continue they did. For what seemed like hours upon hours, although it could not have possibly been so long. And just when Gimli thought that it would never end, and that Legolas' body would simply stop fighting and that his soul would pass from this world…it did stop. 

The rope around the hook in the ceiling was cut and Legolas hit the floor hard. Gimli struggled to get to get to his friend, to offer him some comfort after all that he had been through. He looked up at Grima who seemed to be smiling at him. "Please," he said, not caring that he was begging. 

Grima stared at him as if thinking. Then he gave a brisk nod. "I will give you a few minutes." 

He nodded to his men and they moved forward and undid the ropes that bound Gimli to the chair. He immediately dropped down to the floor beside his friend and gathered him in his arms, being especially careful not to jar any broken bones or further damage any wounds.

"It's all right, laddie," he said softly. "You'll be just fine in no time." 

Legolas coughed weakly and a thin stream of blood oozed from his mouth. "I feel better already," he said. With his damaged jaw, the words were almost unintelligible, but Gimli somehow understood them perfectly. And despite their situation, the dwarf found himself chuckling.

"We certainly showed him, didn't we?" Gimli asked. 

Legolas smiled and nodded slightly, then shuddered as a wave of pain crashed through his body. 

Gimli gently brushed some of Legolas' golden hair away from his sweat-streaked face. 'Still beautiful' he thought. He was still so beautiful and noble. Nothing that this monster did would ever take that away from him. "Sleep now, Master Elf. Sleep and put those wonderful, elven healing powers of yours to work." 

"Yes Gimli," Legolas managed to whisper before finally giving in to unconsciousness. 

Gimli leaned forward and placed a chaste kiss on his friend's forehead. As he pulled away, a snickering sound from behind him let him know that they were not alone. He turned his head to find that Grima was standing at the entrance to the torture chamber. 

"How touching. Really, truly touching," he said with a hint of laughter in his voice. "I should be thanking you dwarf. You and the elf have provided me with much entertainment tonight. And to think…this is only the beginning." 

Before Gimli could respond, Grima spoke again. "Rest up dwarf. For tomorrow it is your turn."


	2. Chapter 2

  
  


Author's notes: This wasn't meant to have a part two. It was supposed to be a one-shot deal. But Legolas wanted closure. Unfortunately he won't get it until part 3.

  


And All Hope Fled (Part 2)

  
  


The torture continued for seven straight nights. Grima, true to his word, alternated between torturing the elf and the dwarf. And although they were both made to endure suffering beyond words, it was clear to everyone that the elf received the worst punishment. This was not a personal choice on Grima's part. It had more to do with practicality than anything else. The elf was of the Eldar, and therefore could sustain more serious injury than the dwarf. In fact any injuries he sustained during his sessions were almost completely healed by the next morning. 

  


Tonight it was the elf's turn once again. 

  


Grima smiled as he entered the torture chamber, pleased to see that everything was already prepared. The dwarf was tied securely to the stone chair in the middle of the room. The elf was a few yards away from him, on his knees, his hands chained to a steel bolt imbedded in the floor in front of him. 

  


"Well, well," Grima began as he walked to stand between them. "Here we are again." 

  


Both Legolas and Gimli stared at him, their eyes blazing with hatred. Grima returned their stares with an aloof coolness. "I must admit, that while this was entertaining at first, it is now getting a bit . . . shall we say . . . tiresome? After all, I do have an entire world to run, I cannot spend all my nights down in this pit waiting for you to come to your senses and talk." His voice, which had started out being soft and composed, was now loud and full of venom. 

  


He paused a moment, forcing himself to calm down, then he looked at Legolas. "So, I thought that tonight we might try something . . . different. What do you say, elf? Shall we try something different?" 

  


Legolas stared at him, saying nothing. His eyes betrayed none of the fear that was stirring in his heart. It had been there from the beginning, a small kernel of fear that had been growing steadily. He was afraid for Gimli, he was afraid for the rebellion that was still so new, and finally, he was afraid for himself. He was not invulnerable to emotions, despite what many seemed to think. He did not want to die. 

  


Grima continued to speak. "I went to my men and asked for volunteers. When I asked about you, dwarf," he said as he turned toward Gimli, "there weren't many who were interested. Not surprising. You are quite hideous." 

  


"You on the other hand elf, drew many volunteers. Again not surprising. You are very beautiful." Grima walked over to Legolas and bent down to stroke his cheek gently. Legolas made a noise of disgust and turned his head away. 

  


Grima drew his hand away and clutched it to his chest. He looked amused. "I have to admit, I believe this will be most pleasurable to watch."

  


He then straightened and walked to the northern wall of the chamber where he could easily see both of his captives. "So, have you figured out what the torment will be for tonight?" he asked as he leaned against the cool stones. "You are both intelligent; surely you must see it by now." He glanced over at Gimli and saw that he knew what was coming. The look of horror on his face was unmistakable. 

  


Grima was most pleased by the dwarf's reaction. He turned toward the man standing closest to him and addressed him. "Would you like to be first?" he asked. 

  


The man smiled and nodded. "Yes sir." 

  


"Then go, take him," Grima said. 

  


The man had taken a few steps toward Legolas when Grima suddenly shouted, "Wait!" The man stopped and looked at him questioningly. Surely his king had not changed his mind? Grima reached inside his robes and pulled out a lean dagger. He threw it at the man, who caught it effortlessly. 

  


"Do not be gentle," he said with a smile. 

  


"Yes, my lord."

  


Legolas watched the man as he came toward him. He kept his gaze steady, determined not to show his fear. He was no fool, he had realized what was going to happen to him long before Gimli had. 

The man reached Legolas and knelt down behind him. Using the dagger given to him, he sliced Legolas' shirt in two. He then parted the torn fabric to expose the elf's back. His eyes widened in appreciation as he looked down upon the smooth, pale skin. He ran a trembling hand down the length of his back, relishing the softness. Gods, no woman's skin had ever been this soft. He pulled his hand away reluctantly and once more used the dagger, this time to cut the elf's leggings off of his body. He was not gentle and the steel blade cut into Legolas' skin as often as it cut into cloth. 

  


When the man finished with the clothing, he set the dagger down on the floor with great care, as if it were very fragile. Then he leaned over the elf and began to do what his king had bidden him to do; what he himself had wanted to do ever since he set eyes upon the beautiful creature.

  


Legolas shuddered involuntarily. The man's hands were all over him, touching him as one would touch a willing lover. He wanted to twist away from them but there was nowhere to go. If only his hands were free, he could stand up and . . . ah but that kind of thinking was useless now. He was _not_ free and he could not stop what was about to happen to him. 

  


The hands moved to his lower body, parting his legs slightly, then they were on his backside, kneading his flesh hungrily. He could feel the man's wet mouth on the back of his neck and his shoulder, planting eager kisses and bestowing small bites. 

  


Legolas raised his head and looked at Gimli. His friend's face was deathly pale but a light of determination shone brightly in his eyes. Legolas continued to look at him, drawing strength from his presence. It was only when the man entered him that he finally shut his eyes. _This_ he would have to endure alone.

  


He clenched his fists tightly and willed his mind to focus on something other than what was being done to him. He tried to lose himself in sweet memories of the past or in positive images of the future, but the pain kept bringing him back. Yet it was not the physical pain that affected him so, it was the pain he felt in his heart. The humiliation, the sense of helplessness; those things were what kept him anchored to his present reality. 

  


Legolas did not open his eyes again until it was over and the man had pulled away from him. He unclenched his fists and allowed his body to relax. He felt a stinging sensation on his bottom lip and was surprised to find that he bitten through it during the assault. His ran his tongue gingerly over the spot and tasted his own blood. His stomach lurched from nausea. 

  


Nearing footsteps alerted him to the fact that Grima was walking toward him. He lifted his eyes and watched as the man gathered his robes to crouch down in front of him. 

  


Grima lifted Legolas' chin with his hand and softly asked, "What do you say, elf? Would you like to speak now?" 

  


Legolas tried to talk, but found that his throat was too dry to allow words to form. He swallowed painfully and tried again. "...nothing to say to you . . . " 

  


Grima turned his head and asked the dwarf, "And you, would you like to speak now?" 

  


Gimli's voice was cold and hollow, the voice of a dead man, as he answered. "I will see you dead, Grima Wormtongue. I swear by the Valar, I will see you dead for this." 

  


"Yes, yes . . . more threats. They get old dwarf." Grima stood. "Well, since neither of you has anything of interest to tell me, let us proceed. Who is next?" 

  


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  


Five men had taken their turn at the elf, and still neither he nor the dwarf had broken. They appeared to be close to it; Legolas' sounds of restrained anguish continuously echoed through the chamber and Gimli wept openly at his friend's plight. But still neither had broken. 

  


Finally growing impatient and bored, Grima motioned for one of his men to come to him, then he whispered something in his ear. The man left, his departure going unnoticed by almost everyone in the room. When he returned, he held a great bow in one hand and an axe in the other. 

  


"Do you recognize this, elf?" Grima asked as he took the bow from the man and held it aloft. Legolas wearily lifted his head and tried to focus. It was difficult, sweat kept trickling into his eyes, causing them to sting and water, yet when he saw what Grima held, his eyes opened wide. 

  


"Yes, I see you do," Grima said. "It is your bow, of course. A beauty . . . such craftsmanship. This was a gift was it not? I believe it was." He dropped the bow, and it clattering noisily onto the stone floor. He turned to Gimli. "And you dwarf? Do you recognize your trusty axe? "

  


Without waiting for an answer, he took the axe from the man and brought it down with a strength that few would have thought he possessed. It sliced through the air and landed heavily on the center of the bow. The sturdy wood splintered but did not break. He lifted the axe and brought it down again on the exact same spot. It still did not break. 

  


Once again the axe came whistling through the air. This time the bow split in two.

  


He dropped the axe carelessly and picked up half of the bow. "I will do this myself," he announced as he began to move toward Legolas. 

  


"I believe this will be a first for you, elf. To be speared by your own weapon?"

  


Legolas again closed his eyes and clenched his fists, trying to prepare himself for what was to come. The edge of the bow was jagged. It would hurt, it would hurt unlike anything he had ever experienced. And he knew it was very likely that he would not survive. Softly, in Elvish, he began to pray.

  


Without another word Grima stepped behind Legolas and placed a steadying hand on his bare back. With the other hand he gripped the bow tightly and lifted it into the air. 

  


"Wait, stop! I will tell you what you wish you know!" Gimli shouted. 

  


Gimli's words broke the stillness that had settled so heavily in the air. The men in the room looked at him, their eyes blinking slowly as if they were awakening from a dream. Grima froze, his hand still holding the bow in the air. Legolas was the first to recover. "Gimli, no!" he shouted hoarsely. 

  


Gimli turned desperate eyes toward his friend. "Shut your mouth, Legolas!" 

  


Legolas stared at him for a long moment, disbelief and hurt warring for dominance in his features. Finally he dropped his eyes and exhaled softly in defeat. Gimli would tell them what they wanted to know, and he could do nothing to stop him. It was all over. 

  


This had all been for nothing.

  


Grima dropped the bow with a flourish. He had not been expecting this. He had been fully prepared to skewer the elf and watch him die. And he had been fully prepared to enjoy it. But this was much better. Winning was so much better. "So tell me," he said, his voice practically singing with triumph.

  


"I will. But on one condition." 

  


"You are in no position to bargain," Grima said. 

  


"What I ask for is a small trifle. It will not affect you in any way." 

  


Grima was quiet for a moment, as if considering. Finally he said, "Name it." 

  


"I wish to be placed in the same cell as my friend. That is all I ask." 

  


A smile broke across Grima's face. "Fine. That can be done. Now tell me." 

  


Gimli closed his eyes and dropped his head to his chest. His voice shook as if it pained him to speak. "They are in the forest of Rivenna. At the south end near the White River." 

  


Legolas looked up sharply, although his face betrayed no surprise at Gimli's words. Gimli's head continued to stay down. He looked the perfect picture of misery and defeat. 

  


Grima clapped his hands together and laughed. "Finally! Now that wasn't so hard, was it? Was it dwarf?" 

  


Gimli lifted his head and stared at him, saying nothing. 

  


"Well then! It is time for me to assemble my armies, so that they may crush this rebellion of yours." 

  


Grima gathered his robes around his body and began to walk toward the door that lead from the dungeons. He stopped when he reached Gimli and placed a hand on his shoulder in an almost paternal gesture. "You did the right thing. You saved him a great deal of pain." 

  


Gimli merely grunted, wanting nothing more than for the snake to take his vile touch away. 

  


He almost sighed in relief when Grima lifted his hand and continued to make his way outside. 

  


At the entrance to the chamber he paused briefly to say, "Put them in the same cell," and then he was gone. 

  


Gimli observed the men's faces as they followed their king outside. Some of them looked frustrated at not having gotten their turn with the elf. The five that had gotten their turn looked sated and pleased. Besides the Wormtongue himself, Gimli had never hated anyone as much as he hated those men. 

  


Soon the only ones left in the room were the two guards that took them back to their cells every night. Gimli watched as they undid Legolas' bonds. He winced as he watched him slump to the floor heavily. One of the guards grabbed him by the arm and roughly hoisted him to his feet. Legolas, ever proud, tried to stand, but his legs would not support him. He would have fallen back to the stone floor if not for the man's quick movements. The guards, seeing that the elf would not be able to walk on his own, stood on each side of him and firmly grasped his arms. Then they half-dragged, half-pulled him from the torture chamber. 

  


It was after they had placed Legolas in his cell that the guards came back for Gimli. They undid his bindings carefully, making certain that weapons were pointed at him at all times. As if he would really try anything. He didn't have the strength. Not after all the torture. Not after seeing Legolas tortured. He didn't have the strength, nor the spirit. 

  


He let himself be escorted to the prison cells, walking docilely next to the guards. They stopped at what he could only guess was Legolas' cell. 

  


The steel door was opened and one of the guards made a motion that indicated he was to enter. He walked in, jumping slightly when the door clanged shut behind him. He looked around the dimly lit cell until he found Legolas, curled up on his side against the far wall. 

  


Gimli moved closer and noticed that Legolas' shoulders shook uncontrollably and that his breaths were coming raggedly and unevenly. He appeared to be sobbing. Gimli had never before seen his friend weep. 

  


Just the thought of it made his heart ache.

  


He quickly knelt down beside him and reached out his hand. 

  


Legolas, sensing the touch coming, flinched violently. "Do not touch me!" he screamed. 

  


Gimli pulled his hand back. "Legolas . . . I only meant to comfort you," he said. 

  


Legolas shook his head and raised it. Gimli could see that he had not been weeping after all. A wave of admiration and pride swept through the dwarf.

  


"Do not touch me, Gimli," Legolas said. "I am unclean." 

  


"What? How can you say that?" Gimli asked in disbelief.

  


"You saw what they did to me. How can you possibly think otherwise?"

  


"I did see what they did to you. But it does not make you unclean. It changes nothing about you," Gimli said. 

  


"It changes everything," Legolas said fiercely. 

  


"Legolas . . . " he started to say but trailed off. Words were failing him. How could he possibly convey to his friend that he did not see him any differently? That if anything he saw him as being braver, stronger than he had before? And that the more these men tried to tarnish him, the brighter he shone? 

  


He felt all of these things so strongly, but he could not seem to find the right words to make Legolas believe what he believed. So he sat silently and listened to Legolas' labored breathing, and he swore to himself that someday soon he would be able to tell his friend what he needed to hear. 

  


They sat without speaking until Legolas' breathing evened out to something resembling normal. Then the elf spoke, breaking the uneasy silence. "Why did you lie to them?" he asked quietly.

  


"I sought to buy some time," Gimli answered.

  


"They will know soon, and then it will be worse for us both." 

  


"Perhaps," Gimli admitted. He knew that Legolas spoke the truth, but what else could he do? Watch as his friend was run through with his own weapon? He had already been witness to so much of his pain. He could not have withstood that. So he had lied. He had lied and told Grima that the rebels were in the forest of Rivenna knowing full well that it would only buy them a few days at the most. 

  


The sound of footsteps on the stone floor caused both Gimli and Legolas to still. They listened as the footsteps drew nearer to them until they stopped abruptly right outside their cell door. Gimli stared through the gloom to see that a man now stood outside their cell. 

  


"Master Dwarf," the man whispered. 

  


"What?" Gimli asked gruffly. 

  


"I must speak with you," the man answered, still whispering. 

  


"Go away," Gimli said. He didn't care that he might possibly be angering one of his enemies. He had had enough of these animals.

  


The man's voice held a note of pleading and urgency. "Please, I do not have much time." 

  


Gimli looked down at Legolas and gave him a questioning look. Legolas nodded, silently telling Gimli to go. Gimli stood up and walked over to where the man was waiting.

  


"What is it?" he asked. 

  


"I have some things for the Prince. They are not much, but they are the best we could do." 

  


Gimli wondered who "we" was, but he stayed silent and waited for the man to continue. 

  


"This is salve for his wounds. It will help with the pain," he said as he passed a small vial through the bars. Gimli took it. "And this is a blanket to help keep him warm." 

  


He passed that through the bars as well. Gimli took it and looked down at what he held in his hands. "Why would you give these to us?" he asked. 

  


The man ignored the question. "You must hide them when the guards come. They cannot see them." 

  


"Yes, but, why give these to us?" Gimli persisted.

  


A noise from the far end of the hall caused the man to turn his head sharply. He waited a moment, his head cocked to one side listening for any other sound. When none came, he turned back toward Gimli. 

  


"Just remember this. Do not give up on Hope." 

  


"What does that mean? Who are you?" Gimli asked, but the man was already turning to leave. 

  


Gimli watched him go, then he walked back to where his friend lay. He sat down on the ground next to him and gently placed the blanket over his body. "He said . . . " 

  


"I heard," Legolas interrupted. 

  


"Do not give up on hope. What do you think he meant by that?" 

  


"Estel, perhaps," Legolas said softly. 

  


"Aragorn? He is as good as dead," he said bitterly. 

  


"But he is not dead, Gimli. Not yet. And whatever the meaning of the message, at least we know we have allies here. That alone is worth much." 

  


Gimli nodded. The elf was right. He very often was.

  


He looked down at the vial he held in his hands. "Well, I suppose I should put this on you now. Maybe it will help you rest."

  


"I can do it myself." 

  


Gimli smiled, knowing the elf would have it no other way. He handed him the vial and then turned his head to give him a measure of privacy. 

  


After a few minutes he heard Legolas sigh and say, "I am done." 

  


He looked to see that Legolas was still laying on his side with the blanket wrapped protectively around him like a cocoon. His hands gripped its frayed fabric so hard that his knuckles were white.

  


"Come elf, lay your head on my lap. It is more comfortable than a stone floor," Gimli said.

  


Legolas looked at him uncertainly. Gimli knew what he was thinking. It was as if he could read the elf's mind. He still believed himself to be unclean; unworthy of comfort. Gimli forced a smile onto his face, hoping it didn't look too false. "Come on, you stubborn elf. Are you going to make me drag you over here?" 

  


Legolas gave a choked, little laugh then he lifted his head slightly, just enough to allow Gimli to slip under him. 

  


"Are you in much pain?" he asked softly. 

  


"Yes," Legolas answered simply. "But already it begins to recede."

  


Gimli leaned back against the stone wall and looked down at his friend. His hair was in disarray and it fell all around his face like waves of spun gold. He was tempted to run his hands through it, to comfort him and soothe him, but he was afraid to touch too much. Afraid that he would cause Legolas to pull away from him. 

  


So instead he sat quietly and offered a few tentative touches in the near-dark. And as he sat there, he mulled over the man's mysterious words. 

  


_Do not give up on hope . . . _

  


Could he really hold on to hope here, in this place of pain and fear? 

  


He looked down at Legolas and noticed that he had fallen asleep. He looked young, innocent, at peace. 

  


Perhaps he could hold on to hope after all.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	3. Chapter 3

Author's notes: Hardly any torture in this one, but there is resolution. Hope you enjoy it anyway.

  
  
  


And All Hope Fled (Part 3)

  
  
  


It took Grima and his men seven days to travel to the forest of Rivenna. When they finally arrived, weary and aching from the long trip, they saw only trees and stone and the majesty of the white river. The men glanced furtively at Grima, too frightened to look at their king full in the face. They were afraid of his anger. And they were right to be afraid of it. Grima shook with it, his face twisted and almost unrecognizable from the overwhelming strength of it.

  


The ring that sat on his finger enjoyed the anger. It fed off of it, drew strength from it, and in turn it gave strength to the man who bore it. 

  


It took only five days for Grima and his men to return to Isengard. None of his anger had abated in that time. It had instead grown into an ugly, mindless rage. 

  
  


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  


Gimli looked at Legolas out of the corner of his eye, trying very hard not to appear as if he were looking at him. Four days ago Legolas had accused him of being a mother hen, and perhaps he was, but he was very worried about his friend. 

  


Legolas had healed of course; at least physically. Mentally, emotionally...in those ways he had not healed quite so well. He was sullen and withdrawn and he slept too much and ate too little. 

  


Gimli sighed inwardly. Yes, he was very worried about his friend. And the worst part of it was that he had no idea how to help him.

  


"Gimli, I can see that you are staring at me," Legolas said suddenly. 

  


Gimli almost jumped at the sound of the quiet voice, then he steadied himself and snorted as if the very notion were absurd. "Nonsense elf, I was staring at the wall behind you." 

  


"I can see you perfectly well, you were staring at me with that look on your face again." 

  


"What look?" Gimli asked innocently.

  


"Pity," Legolas said softly. "The look is pity."

  


"You know, for someone whose eyesight is supposed to be so good, you are quite blind," Gimli said as he stood. 

  


"What?" Legolas asked, a touch of anger in his voice. 

  


Gimli heard the anger and almost smiled. He had not intentionally provoked Legolas, but now that he had, he found that he preferred the anger to the sad lassitude that had emanated from his friend since he had been violated. 

  


"You heard me, or are you ears as faulty as your eyes?" 

  


"Why do you speak to me like this?" Legolas asked as he too stood. There was an undercurrent of hurt in the elf's voice but the growing anger easily overrode it. 

  


"Perhaps because you need to hear it," Gimli said loudly. 

  


Legolas took a step forward. "What?" he asked. 

  


"You heard me."

  


In two quick strides Legolas was across the cell and in front of Gimli. He grabbed two fistfuls of the dwarf's shirt and shook him forcefully. He repeated the question. "Why do you speak to me this way?"

  


"Because I need to see something from you other than this overwhelming depression," Gimli answered loudly, almost shouting at his friend. "You are angry now. Perhaps if you can hold on to that and turn it away from yourself, towards the ones that hurt you...perhaps you can begin to overcome this."

  


Legolas looked at him for a moment, searching his eyes, then he let go of Gimli and dropped his hands to his sides. "If I allow myself to feel the anger, then it will turn into hate, Gimli. I do not wish to hate." 

  


Gimli sighed, a little defeated. "No, of course not, Legolas. That is not in your nature. Sometimes I almost forget that you are an elf." 

  


Legolas leaned his head to the side, his expression curious and confused. 

  


"You are such a good friend to me...sometimes I see you as a dwarf," Gimli explained, shrugging.

  


Legolas chuckled softly. 

  


Gimli crossed his arms and looked personally affronted. "That was a compliment." 

  


Legolas sobered up immediately. His face was solemn. "I know. And it was one of the kindest you have ever bestowed upon me." 

  


Gimli reached out to him. Had they been the same height, he would have placed his hand on Legolas' shoulder. As it was, he settled for touching his arm lightly. " I do not pity you, Legolas. I am concerned as any friend would be. What was done to you..." 

  


"Let us not speak of it, Gimli," Legolas said as he made to turn away.

  


Gimli tightened his grasp on his friend's arms and swung him around. "We will speak of it," he said firmly. 

  


"Gimli..." Legolas began.

  


"I do not pity you, Legolas," Gimli interrupted. "I admire you. I admire your courage and your strength. So many others would have given in under that torture. Would have begged for mercy. Would have told all. But not you." Gimli paused for breath. Now that he had started speaking, he found that his feelings were not all that difficult to put into words. " Legolas, you and I have been through much together, seen much together. And yet I have never been more proud of you as I was at that moment." 

  


"You were proud of me?" Legolas asked, his eyes suddenly very wide. 

  


"Very," Gimli answered. 

  


Legolas smiled and opened his mouth as if to speak. An instant later he closed it tightly and tilted his head to the side, a look of concentration on his face.

  


"What is the matter?" Gimli asked. 

  


Legolas shook his head. "He is here. And he is very angry, Gimli. Very angry."

  


"Grima is here?" 

  


"Yes. His anger...it is so black..." He looked into Gimli's eyes. "He will kill us both. There is no room in his soul for anything else."

  


"Then he kills us. At least this will all end," Gimli said resolutely.

  


Legolas stared at him a moment and then nodded slowly. "Yes, this will all end. For us at least." 

  


"Just promise me one thing, elf," Gimli said. 

  


"What is that my friend?" 

  


"That when we die, we die as warriors."

  


A ghost of a smile flitted across Legolas' lips. "We will die as warriors. I swear it." 

  


At that moment, Gimli heard the first light touch of footsteps approaching. As they grew steadily louder, it was obvious that there were many, as if a small army strode towards them. 

  


Perhaps it did. 

  


Before too long the sound of the footsteps had turned thunderous and Gimli knew they were right outside the cell. A moment later the sounds stopped and Gimli hazarded a glance through the bars. 

  


Grima himself stood outside their cell, with what appeared to be at least a dozen men behind him. He motioned impatiently for one of the guards to open the door. The guard hurried to do so, nearly tripping over his own feet to do it as quickly as he could. As soon as it was open Grima stalked inside, his movements stiff and precise. He headed straight for Gimli, like an arrow to its target. 

  


"You lied to me!" he growled as he reached out with a gloved hand and grasped Gimli's neck. Legolas sprang into action immediately, lunging at Grima, but the guards were prepared for him. Two of them ran into the cell, and grabbing his arms roughly, pushed him to the ground. 

  


If Grima noticed the elf coming at him he made no move indicating he did so. He lifted Gimli into the air until their faces were only inches apart and with one swift movement he pushed him against the wall. Gimli's back took the brunt of the impact and he groaned. Grima pulled him away from the wall and then slammed him into it again; this time with even more force than the last. He was about to repeat the action yet again when he noticed out of the corner of his eye that the elf had almost succeeded in freeing himself from the grasp of his men. He cursed softly and dropped the dwarf, then turned quickly to face the other prisoner. He balled his hand into a fist and smashed it into Legolas' face, catching him low on the cheek. 

  


He paused and watched as the blue eyes filled with pain and something akin to amazement. This was good; but it was not enough. He wanted more of the elf's pain. He kicked Legolas in the stomach, feeling immense pleasure when he felt bones crack beneath him. He looked down into Legolas' pain-filled face and spoke. 

  


"I know what you must be wondering. How can he possibly be so strong? The ring enjoys my anger, you see. It feeds off of it, uses it to grow stronger and it in turn feeds me. It is the perfect. Symbiotic. Relationship." His last three words were punctuated by brutal kicks to the elf's mid-section. 

  


Legolas was on the ground now, his arms wrapped protectively around his stomach, his breathing harsh. Grima knew instinctively that he had inflicted serious damage and that the elf would not be a threat for awhile. 

  


He turned his attention back to the dwarf. Again he picked him up by his throat and slammed him against the wall. This time his head took most of the impact and a thin moan issued from his lips. 

  


"I have not forgotten about you, friend. You lied to me. To what purpose? To gain some time? When all you gained was death?" He tightened his grip cruelly, watched as Gimli struggled for air, as the dwarf's small, compact hands clutched uselessly at his own. After a few moments of this he dropped him back onto the stone floor. 

  


He bent down slightly so the dwarf would be certain to hear his words. "For your insolence and your deceit, you shall both die. Your friend will die first. Slowly, painfully, and you will watch every moment. And as he screams in his death throes, I want you to understand that this was your doing." 

  


He stood up fully and announced. "Their punishment is death by flaying." 

  


Shocked silence was his only answer for a few moments. Finally one of the guards gathered his wits and said, "Yes sire. We will be ready by the morn." 

  


"No. Now!" he shouted. "I want them dead now!" 

  


"Yes sire. Now...of course." 

  


"I will be waiting in the courtyard. Do NOT make me wait long." 

  


"Yes sire." 

  


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  


Their hands were tied in front of them with rough cord and they were led outside. 

  


Already a crowd was forming, the promise of a painful death calling to them; enticing them. They were led through the crowd to several whipping posts that were sunk deep into the ground. Except they weren't going to be whipped. They were going to be flayed to death. Their skin would be taken off, piece by piece, inch by inch, until their bodies gave in to the shock and the blood-loss. 

  


Death would be a mercy. 

  


As they were tied to the posts, Gimli looked over at Legolas. He saw that his friend's face was unreadable, a blank mask. If there was fear there, it was completely hidden. He hoped that his face looked the same way.

  


"I will make the first cut," Grima announced as he pulled from his robes a wicked, lean metal instrument and walked over to where Legolas stood. As he lifted the weapon in the air, Legolas stiffened and fought the urge to turn around and see what was about to be done. Instead he took a deep breath and let it out very slowly. 

  


The sharp metal touched his shoulder blade, and it felt cool, almost comforting. Then it began to dig into his skin, and that sensation was quickly lost. Only a moment later it was under his skin and moving downward quickly. The pain was searing and sharp and he gave a strangled scream, his body tensing up against the assault. 

  


Grima smiled as the elf's blood flowed freely from his body. A raw narrow wound now stretched from the top of his shoulder blade to the middle of his back. And this was only the beginning. By the time this was over, the ground would be drenched in the elf's blood. 

  


He let the long piece of skin that he had shorn from the elf drop to the ground. Then he prepared for the next cut. If this continued to be so entertaining, perhaps he would completely skin the elf himself. 

  


Before he could proceed however, a far away shout was heard. Then another and another. War cries. 

  


Grima stopped and turned towards the sounds. "Who are they?" he demanded of no one in particular. 

  


The "they" he was referring to was a host of men, some on horseback, most on foot, that was quickly drawing closer to them. Grima squinted and stared at the man in front of them all, a man who sat tall and imposing astride his horse. He blinked once to clear his eyes...no it could not be! The man was in the deepest dungeon. No more than a hole in the earth and stone. How could Aragorn possibly be riding towards him? 

  


He shouted "No!" and threw the metal implement to the ground, whirling around completely to face the oncoming men. 

  


"No!" he screamed again. The ring heard him and filled him with fury.

  


"Kill them! Kill them all!" 

  
  


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  
  


Legolas could hear the distinct sounds of war behind him, could feel battle vibrating in the very air around him, but he could see almost nothing; almost everything was happening behind him. Every once in a while soldiers stumbled into his line of vision, only to fall dead at his feet. Legolas, frustrated, tugged ineffectually at his bonds, succeeding only in causing himself pain from his recent wound. 

  


He looked over at Gimli and found his friend to be in the same predicament. Itching to get into the battle, but completely unable to. It was then that he felt someone running directly towards him. He turned his head as much as he was able, and saw a tall, thin man reaching for the ropes around his left wrist. He stilled and watched warily as the man undid the ropes, then moved to untie his right wrist. Once free he staggered a little, but was able to catch himself on one of the poles before falling. 

  


He looked at the man and said, "Thank you." 

  


"Come, we need to get you to safety," the man said hurriedly, his eyes constantly moving, searching for immediate danger. 

  


"No, give me a weapon. I wish to fight," Legolas. 

  


"But surely," the man began, then stopped. He stared at Legolas incredulously. "You are wounded. You cannot fight."

  


"I can fight," he said. He dropped his eyes to the ground and found exactly what he was looking for. A sword, still clutched in the hand of a dead man. 

  


He pried it from the fingers that still held it tightly and lifted it into the air. "I can fight," he repeated. 

  


The other man merely nodded and took a step back. "As you wish." Then he turned around and ran to battle. 

  


Legolas spared a moment to look for Gimli. He was nowhere to be found, the ropes around the poles that had held him now hung swung loosely in the air. He had been freed also, and was already fighting. 

  


Legolas rushed into the field of battle, feeling more alive and _right_ than he had felt in a long time. He swung his sword with a ferocity and certainty that he had never possessed with such a weapon, the pain from his back almost forgotten. 

  


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  


When the fighting at last ended, it was Aragorn and his men that stood victorious. 

  


Those loyal to Grima were either lying dead on the ground, being taken as prisoners, or fleeing into the woods. 

  


Legolas laid down his borrowed sword and looked around. His eyes soon found Aragorn and he hurried over to him. Aragorn saw him approach and smiled at him.

  


Legolas reached the man and embraced him without thinking and Aragorn returned the embrace warmly. He winced when Aragorn's arm came in contact with his damaged flesh, but he made no sound. 

  


They pulled away and appraised each other. "You're alive," Legolas said breathlessly. 

  


"And so are you," Aragorn said. 

  


"Where is he? Where is Grima?" he asked. 

  


Aragorn looked frustrated. "He is gone. He escaped." 

  


A cold chill ran through Legolas. His chance at avenging himself... was gone. Something of his pain must have shown in his face because Aragorn looked at him closely. "Legolas?" he asked. "Are you ill? Hurt?" 

  


Legolas shook his head, dismissing the questions. "No, no that isn't it. I had hoped to capture him, regain the ring. Finish this," he said as he spread his arms wide. 

  


"I understand Legolas. But we must remember that we won a great victory today. We defeated Grima on his own land. We took back Isengard and forced him to flee from his own castle." 

  


Legolas was about to protest, say that it wasn't enough. That it would not be enough until that evil snake was dead, but then he caught sight of Gimli moving towards them and he silenced himself. 

  


Gimli looked dirty and tired, but as he neared them, he graced them with a glowing smile. 

  


"Victory!" he said loudly. He ran the remaining way and embraced Aragorn enthusiastically. After they parted he turned towards Legolas. 

  


"Victory, Legolas," he said again, this time much more quietly and with a deeper meaning. 

  


As Gimli watched Legolas' face, he pleaded silently 

  


_Please see what I'm saying. Please see that you are still strong and that Grima is weak and that one day you will avenge what happened to you. _

  


Legolas looked at the open field, at the wounded and dead and sighed. Yes, there was victory here and he would not belittle it simply because his need for personal vengeance had not been satisfied. 

  


He nodded, feeling his damaged back protest the movement. Now that the adrenaline of fighting was wearing off, the pain was returning. In another few minutes he would be agony. He could only hope that he would heal quickly. 

  


A hand on his arm effectively stopped his thoughts. He looked to see that both Aragorn and Gimli were staring at him with identical faces of worry. 

  


He gave them a smile, the best one he could manage under the circumstances. Gimli's hand was still on his arm, so he covered it with his own hand and squeezed. 

  


"Victory," he affirmed, as he held back tears. "Victory."

  
  



End file.
